


i'm not a monster (just a little fucked up)

by williamschofield (orphan_account)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Abuse, Bad Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, Crying, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 19:34:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21021104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/williamschofield
Summary: stan wraps his arms around him, pulling him away from the toilet and towards the wall by the sink, head resting on his shoulder. richie’s crying, the cries shaking his body, and stan turns him around, so that he’s facing him, and pulls him forward, so richie’s resting against himself.he rubs circles into richie’s back, and tries to ignore the thought that this all could’ve been prevented, if richie hadn’t decided to try and prove he wasn’t a pussy, when he wasn’t. he just had a fear, and that’s perfectly normal. they all have fears that seem stupid to others, but they’re just fine.or,richie tozier thinks over the fact that he doesn't like to get drunk





	i'm not a monster (just a little fucked up)

**Author's Note:**

> this was all because of madelyn so y'all get to thank her for this
> 
> anyways this is dedicated to her and tyler!!!
> 
> also title from a fob song but the lyrics are slightly changed

richie doesn’t like to get drunk.

it reminds him of the nights where a glass bottle shattered against his skin, and he had to call bill crying, begging him to let him over, _i can’t stay here anymore, bill, please_, and of him gripping stans shirt and telling him he’s sorry for soaking his shirt. it reminds him of the men gripping his shirt when he went with beverly to clubs because he was the one who would drive her home, and he could smell the beer on their breath as they asked why such a pretty boy was all alone in this club, and could feel it when they punched him when he said he was with a friend.

it reminds him of nights where eddie cried in his arms over his shitty mother, _why does she lie to me, rich_, and he had to lie to him, tell him that he doesn’t know, when in fact, he does. she’s an awful person, and she only wants eddie for herself, because she _<strike>wants</strike>_ needs to care for her <strike>poor, sick</strike> baby. it reminds him of when eddie came out to him, and he could taste the whiskey when eddie kissed him, and could see the pain on his best friends face when he pushed him away and told him that he needed to drink some water.

it doesn’t remind him of good nights.

-

richie doesn’t like to get drunk.

he’s sat in a booth away from the doors, scrolling through twitter on his phone, when he hears beverly’s voice over the music, and when he looks up, some dude is clutching his nose as blood runs through his fingers and beverly stomps towards him, grabbing him and pulling him out. she’s ranting on the street, talking about how much she hates the dudes here, when all richie can smell is the alcohol in her breath. he doesn’t run away, and instead listens to her talk about the shitty dudes as he drives them back to the apartment building that she lives in.

he waits until he’s back in his apartment, alone, to take a shower and try to scrub the smell of alcohol off his body.

-

richie doesn’t like to get drunk, yet here he is.

ben had brought out some beer, and richie ahd drank some, trying to convince everyone that he’s not scared of something as stupid and little as alcohol, and almost choked on it because it’s so much worse than what he expected, but he downed the can, drank another, and now he’s in stan’s lap with his face buried into his neck. nobody's acting like anything is different, and he’s not as panicked as he was earlier, and he can’t tell if that’s the alcohol in his system, or the realization that his friends group is so weird and messed up that nothing will make them look at you weirdly.

his head is resting on stan’s shoulder, with his head turned towards stan’s neck, and for the first time since they were 15 that maybe he likes stan. he sighs, and stan shifts, wrapping his arms around the black haired boy, and richie smiles. he thinks he hears stan say something, maybe asking if he’s okay, but he just moves a tiny bit and a couple minutes later, he’s asleep and probably drooling on the curly haired boy.

he wakes up in stan’s bed, with a pounding headache and in pajamas that he definitely not wearing when he drank-

he drank.

he _drank_.

oh god, oh _fuck_.

he ignores the water, pills, and glasses on the dresser beside his face, and instead rushes to the bathroom to puke. he thinks he hears someone enter the bathroom, but all he can focus on the thought that he better be getting all of that awful stuff out of his system. he leans back when he’s finally through, and he expects to just keep going and to hit the floor, but instead he hits someone’s hands, and hears stan going “woah woah, richie.”

he’s leaning back against stan in the bathroom, with the smell of flowers filling his nose and taking the smell of beer away, and he bursts into tears. 

stan wraps his arms around him, pulling him away from the toilet and towards the wall by the sink, head resting on his shoulder. richie’s crying, the cries shaking his body, and stan turns him around, so that he’s facing him, and pulls him forward, so richie’s resting against himself.

he rubs circles into richie’s back, and tries to ignore the thought that this all could’ve been prevented, if richie hadn’t decided to try and prove he wasn’t a pussy, when he _wasn’t_. he just had a fear, and that’s perfectly normal. they all have fears that seem stupid to others, but they’re just fine.

richie’s still shaking in his arms, and he can’t tell if it’s from the crying or the cold floor. he’s holding him, tightly, trying to calm him down, still rubbing circles into richie’s back and talking in his ear, telling him that he’s alright now. richie isn’t calming down, and that’s when stan gets up, pulling richie with him. richie makes a noise of protest through the crying, but stan acts like he ignores it, wrapping his arm around the black haired boy to take him to his bed.

he doesn’t try to talk to richie until he gets him under the covers and makes sure that he’s getting warmer.

richie still hasn’t looked at him. he’s looked everywhere except at stan, like he’s scared that he’ll get mad at him. that worries him, but he sets it off to the side, for a conversation later, because this isn’t about this. this is about getting it through to richie that he’s not like his parents when he drinks.

he’s opened his mouth to speak, to ask richie if he’s okay (he knows the answer is no) when richie speaks for the first time since he got on stan’s lap last night.

“are you mad at me, st-stan?” he asks, and he hiccups at the end, staring up at his best friend with sad eyes.

“no, richie. why would i be?” he asks, softly, slowly, thinking that maybe he can get an answer, when richie pulls the covers up a little further.

“because i’m a bad person.” he opens his mouth, to say no, you aren’t, rich, when richie stops him before he can even begin. “i am! i have evil all in me, with my mother being, y-y’know, and my dad being an abusive piece of shit, and it was all because of alcohol. it ruined my fucking life, but i fucking drank it! i f-fucking drank the shitty drink last night, and i’m a bad person, because that already ruined my parents and me, and now i’m just going to let it run my life again! and-and i didn’t even want to drink it! i drank it so i could look cool, and not be a fucking scaredy-cat, but-but-”

“rich.” stan grabs his hands, forcing the boy to look at him. “you aren’t your parents. i don’t care if you think that because every inch of you was because of them, you’re going to have to be like them. you’re not. you get to be your own person, and you don’t have to let your fears control you, alright? you don’t have to drink alcohol if you don’t want to, because if it hurt you, you don’t need to let it hurt you anymore. you can choose what you want. you can be things that they weren’t, because you don’t belong to them. you’ve never belonged to them.”

“what if i accidentally drink, though? what if i accidentally drink alcohol, and then one of you makes me feel m-mad, and then i h-hurt you? or eddie, or bev, or-”

“you won’t.”

“what if i do, though?” richie says, and stan grips his hands tighter.

“then we’ll work through it, and we’ll help you get better. because you’re our friend, and we love you, and you doing something you don’t mean to won’t stop us.”

“but i would’ve hurt you, and that’s bad.” richie sniffles, and stan finally tugs him forward to wrap his arms around him, again. “if i hurt you guys, then i deserve to leave you.”

“richie, if you hurt them and then try to leave them, they will come and hunt you down until you’re good enough to realize that we aren’t leaving you, so you can’t leave us.”

“you really don’t think i’m like my parents?” richie asks, and stan squeezes his hand.

“i haven’t thought that since they insulted me and you argued with them right in front of me.”

-

richie doesn’t like to get drunk.

it reminds him of his parents, when he would have to clean up the bottles scattered over the house on nights where his mom told him he wasn’t allowed to leave the house unless it was all nice and neat. it reminds him of the smell that he tried to get out of his nose, and that would ruin his clothes and stay stuck in his hair. it reminds him of not so good times with his parents.

but it also reminds him of nights spent with his friends, where the others got drunk and they all played games, and he got to see how much they stayed the same even when drinking cheap beer. it reminds him of when bill spilt wine in the carpet and panicked over it while richie laughed his ass off at bill’s face. it reminds him of great times with his friends, who didn’t care about his parents, who only cared about _him_.

richie doesn’t like to get drunk, but it doesn’t bother him like it used to.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a tumblr! atm it's scarystanley


End file.
